


Iridescence

by NoLongerInThisFandom (write_away)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos takes Cecil into the normal world for a bit, Cecil is Mostly Human, M/M, No Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/write_away/pseuds/NoLongerInThisFandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> "Are you sure this mirror is working correctly?”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Carlos doesn’t bother glancing up from the book he doesn’t remember checking out of the Night Vale Public Library. He’s heard stranger questions – much stranger questions – in his last two years of residence in Night Vale. “Yes, Cecil. Why?” He flips the page to the next chapter slowly, bracing himself for spiders or blood or whatever tends to seep out of book spines.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Luckily, it only yelps a little bit this time.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Because,” Cecil says, voice edging on a cliff of anxiety. “I can see me.” </i></p><p> </p><p>After two years in Night Vale, Carlos just wants to introduce his boyfriend to his family. Cecil has his doubts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iridescence

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys! So I've recently become obsessed with this podcast (one more to go until I'm caught up) and spent an inordinate amount of time figuring out my headcanon for Cecil. Anyway, this is my first fic in the fandom, so I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading!

“Are you _sure_ this mirror is working correctly?”

Carlos doesn’t bother glancing up from the book he doesn’t remember checking out of the Night Vale Public Library. He’s heard stranger questions – _much_ stranger questions – in his last two years of residence in Night Vale. “Yes, Cecil. Why?” He flips the page to the next chapter slowly, bracing himself for spiders or blood or whatever tends to seep out of book spines.

Luckily, it only yelps a little bit this time.

“ _Because_ ,” Cecil says, voice edging on a cliff of anxiety. “ _I can see me_.”

Carlos sighs and shuts his eyes, groping around the hotel bed for his bookmark. Usually, he’d fold down the page, but librarians really weren’t worth the trouble. “Mirrors do that, Cecil. It’s a reflection. The light refracts and –”

“I know _that._ My mirror at home is one of the reflecting ones – special upgrade and all. I _mean_ that I can see me and I look _terrible!”_ Cecil’s voice cracks at the end and he flops backwards onto the bed with a moan, covering his eyes with his hands. “I’m meeting your family and I look like I haven’t slept in three days. Or eaten. Or used basic hygiene. Or had my weekly Rico’s!”

Carlos can see what he means, though they both made sure to stop at Rico’s before leaving town, just to fill their quota. Cecil hasn’t missed a day at the radio station since he was hired, and clearly being away is taking its toll. They’re only ten hours into their five day City Council-sanctioned and Station Management-approved trip, but Cecil has dark purple bags under his eyes and his tattoos are swirling in black, melancholy patterns around his wrists and palms. His hair, which usually looks casually mussed, is wild, sticking up every which way, and he _does_ look starved, though Carlos can’t say how. He doesn’t look any thinner than before they left Night Vale, no gauntness in his cheeks, no poking ribs.

Honestly, Carlos thinks he just misses his listeners and possibly Khoshekh.

“You look beautiful,” he says and leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. A patch of red ink rises to the surface in the shape of a biologically accurate heart.

Cecil’s cheeks flush purple, but he doesn’t put down his hands. “But your parents are used to seeing _you_ all the time. In comparison to _you,_ I look like I was attacked by wheat or wheat by-products. By the way,” he adds quietly, peeking through his fingers with narrowed eyes. “I saw you buy that pretzel from the street vendor. But I won’t tell.”

“I wasn’t in city limits,” Carlos rationalizes, mostly to himself. He can’t explain why the thought of breaking one of Night Vale’s _ridiculous_ laws strikes fear in him, even when he’s not there, but he knows what happens to the people who Cecil reports.

Or, well, he doesn’t know. That’s sort of the point.

“I know,” Cecil says, nodding somberly. He finally takes his hands down from his face and leans up on his elbows. “But make sure all traces are gone before we go home. The Sheriff’s Secret Police have really been cracking down on the speakeasies and wheat-and-wheat-by-product smugglers ever since the second outbreak.” Carlos tries not to shudder – his last two assistants had fled after that.

“Come on,” he urges and rolls off the hotel bed, book in hand. He deposits it on the nightstand carefully at a forty-five degree angle away from the bed (once he left it at a forty-six and it scorched the wood), and grabs Cecil’s hand. “Get up. We’ll get you ready and then we’ll go meet my parents and you’ll look perfect and they’ll love you as much as I do.” Well, he hopes. He _did_ warn them about Cecil’s individual eccentricities, like the purple blood and the constantly moving, changing tattoos. He just doesn’t think they believe him.

Cecil gives him a long, doubtful look and, not for the first time, Carlos thinks his boyfriend might be able to read minds. “All right,” he eventually agrees, sitting up and gnawing on his bottom lip until a bead of purple appears against his teeth. The heart twists and darkens until it becomes decorative swirls around his eyes. “But it’s going to take a _lot_ of work to make me presentable next to you.”

Carlos doesn’t think that’s true. After all, he’s wearing ripped jeans and a t-shirt, and his hair has been growing in unevenly ever since that accidental fire that the Sheriff’s Secret Police purposely started in his lab when they found his lockbox of writing utensils. His last pencil had been tucked behind his ear, but luckily, the burn damage was minimal. The ends of some of his hair had been burned off, but his skin hadn’t even scarred.

He’s just an awkward, geeky scientist who has to routinely pray that his boyfriend has enough pull in the scarily powerful municipal government to not be dragged off to some sort of Hell for all the legal infractions he doesn’t even know he’s breaking half the time.

But _Cecil._ Cecil doesn’t even need a physical appearance to endear himself to others, to wedge his way into others hearts. He’s sincere and passionate and absolutely _heavenly_ when he speaks. It’s almost like there’s an aura of light around him that repels the horrors of Night Vale, or if it can’t repel it, embraces it and somehow makes it better. Carlos doesn’t know if he could stand to live in that wretched place if it weren’t for that crooked grin every single morning and gentle greeting over the radio every single night. He’s gorgeous in every way that counts.

But Cecil would never believe him if he said it. He doesn’t believe in _mountains_ most of the time, let alone his own beauty. Carlos holds back a sigh – for a man who spends a lot of time trying to make sure everyone feels good about themselves, Cecil tends to neglect himself.

"We’ll change your clothes," Carlos suggests as he tugs the Night Vale Community College t-shirt over Cecil’s head to reveal a tattoo of a currently blooming flower as it branches out from his hip, extending its leaves up his side. He touches a blue petal gently and kisses Cecil’s neck. “And I can fix your hair,” he goes on, threading one hand through the messy locks.

Cecil laughs, rumbling and deep. “Don’t bother,” he says. “It has a mind of its own.”

Carlos lightens his touch just slightly, because he’s not entirely sure if Cecil is speaking figuratively or not. Tattoos are blooming wherever they’re touching, red and fiery blurs of shapes that shift too fast to fully form, and they’re absolutely beautiful. “You are beautiful,” he reassures him.

Cecil sighs and lays back on the bed, tugging Carlos with him. “You make me beautiful,” he corrects softly. His eyes flicker from obsidian to blue - _no_ , cyan, Carlos mentally checks himself before Cecil does - then a gently glowing gold that seems to radiate with the warmth of his voice.

They’re almost late to dinner, but Carlos doesn’t really mind.

He’s not used to time moving normally, anyway.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback is required by City Council. The Sheriff's Secret Police is monitoring.


End file.
